Think About It
There was no person on planet Earth that Kate Bishop cared about more than Clinton Francis Barton. He was her best friend, her mentor, and her partner. They had saved the world together at least once, and he had reminded her that she had a purpose when her whole world had seemed to be burning. There was nothing she wanted more than his happiness. Except maybe Lucky's happiness.
Her desire for his happiness was why she had tried to withhold rash judgment when Clint started dating a singer. Then she had met Mr. Barnes.
Kate Bishop knew all about problems with prescription pills. She had grown up amongst the rich and famous and they, more than anyone, loved abusing prescription drugs. They could afford it, and it was probably safer than heroin? She wasn't totally sure on that front. She'd never put an arrow in a heroin dealer; she'd put arrows in a few pill sellers, though.
But what she was sure of, was the fact that James Buchanan Barnes was a pill popper. Clint seemed vaguely unaware of the fact that his boyfriend was abusing opioids, but that was because Clint was an idiot. A well-intentioned idiot, whose heart was most certainly in the best place, but an idiot nonetheless.
The few times they had eaten dinner together - at Clint's insistence - she had seen him dry swallow no less than four pills. She said nothing to him but made sure she frowned at him each time she caught him. He showed no shame at what he was doing, leading her to believe he had been abusing his pills for years.
America said she was being too critical of Clint's boyfriend. But it hadn't been America's quiver Bucky had puked in three minutes after their first meeting. America thought Bucky's band was good and was happy to have another superhero as part of the alphabet. She'd never met Bucky; thus, her opinion was meaningless. It wasn't as though Clint was even officially out, so it didn't count how America wanted it to matter. Not that she felt Clint owed it to anyone to come out, if he wasn't ready. The man was 45 before he'd ever considered the possibility he might not be strictly heterosexual. He deserved time to work through that.
Besides, most superheroes weren't like her and Clint who had just decided to be superheroes through sheer force of will. It wasn't as if Clint coming out was going to mean suddenly a bunch of non-heterosexual people were going to wake up with powers.
"How many of those have you had today?" Kate wrapped her arms around Lucky's waist as she looked up to see Bucky pouring vodka into a glass.
Bucky looked down at her and frowned. He held no fondness for her, displeased there was a cute 21-year-old in Clint's life with whom he shared a dog, a career, and a name. Because Hawk-Squared had a bond that no singer could break. "That's none of your business Kate."
"You drove here."
"I got an Uber here. I don't have a license."
"And why might that be?" She asked, making sure to sound as judgmental as possible. She had years of practice. The friends she had kept before Clint had trained her well. Bucky Barnes gave her more than enough fuel to keep those muscles healthy.
Bucky's frown deepened. He knew was she was getting at; she was sure of it. "Because I have a traumatic brain injury and short-term memory problems." He paused for a second, drinking the entire glass in one smooth motion. "Oh, and I'm missing an arm."
"Are you sure it doesn't have anything to do with the booze and pills?" She asked, her eyes flitting down to the nearly empty bottle of booze.
Bucky sat his glass down on the table, his eyes moving over the bottle. Surprisingly, though, he didn't fill his glass again. Kate had expected to watch him take another drink even as she berated him for his choices. "They revoked my license when a piece of my skull was still sitting in a hospital waiting to be reaffixed to my body, so I doubt the two are related." His hand ghosted over the neck of the bottle, his fingers twitching. Kate wondered how long he would be able to hold off.
She had once gotten Clint to go three hours with coffee because she criticized him enough every time he had so much as looked in the direction of the coffee pot. The abstinence hadn't held, but she hadn't continued her onslaught of criticism. It wasn't as though coffee would kill Clint the way Oxy and vodka were liable to kill his boyfriend.
"My arm feels like it's on fire, Kate. Every day, all day." He grabbed the bottle by the neck, and Kate held her breath, wondering what he would do with it. His eyes moved towards the loft of the apartment, looking for any signs of Clint. "It's not on fire. And it can't feel anything because it's not there. I can't do anything to stop it from hurting because it's not hurting. What I can do is numb my reaction to it."
He sat the bottle down on the counter, his fingers still running around the mouth of it.
"I am doing the best I can with what I've got. Just-" He frowned, lifting the bottle to his mouth again. She couldn't tell if he drank anything or not. "Just get off my case."
"You need help." She got up from the couch and walked across the apartment. She grabbed the bottle from Bucky and set it back down on the counter. "You are killing yourself. It's going to catch up with you sooner or later."
Bucky didn't reach out for the bottle, but his eyes drifted over to its resting place. "I'll be fine."
"You can't get better until you want to, so I can't force it. But this-" she motioned at the bottle, "it's not sustainable." She reached put the cap in Bucky's hand before stepping away from him. "Think about it and let me know when you decide you're ready."